Sullen
by Sophia Banks
Summary: Stuck on a park bench with nothing to do except count her freckles, Isabelle Long didn't expect to be sitting next to a sullen teenager and his overactive little brother, but when did life ever do what she expected? She finds that a simple act of kindness helps her see herself in a new light, unaware that the "sullen teenager" was to be her future husband. (Pre-OC\Mycroft One-shot)


**First off, apologies to my "A Long way to Holmes" readers for the wait on the next chapter, I'm working on it don't worry, the new chapter is just long and being generally difficult.  
Secondly, if you would like more Isabelle check out "Not panicking!", "Broken up" and the previously mentioned "A Long way to Holmes". ;)**

* * *

Isabelle Long stared blankly out at the playground from the safety of the wooden park bench, her knees pressed against her chest, and arms wrapped around her legs. Her chestnut hair was loose and tangled due to the wind, her skirt mimicking the movement as the breeze became more pronounced. She sighed ever so softly; watching ever watching as Maria and Gloria played with their friends in the woodchip covered Safe Haven.  
She had begged for them to let her play too, but they had sensibly pointed out that she had no friends, and playing alone was no fun. So she was confined to the bench to watch.  
She wished that her mum had come; she usually let Isabelle do these sorts of things. She would reprimand her other daughter's softly, and then urge Isabelle to go _make_ some friends.

But even then, it wouldn't work. Maria and Gloria would later remind her (safe from the gaze of their mother) that Isabelle was too stupid, and too…Isabelle-y, to get friends. And so the eleven year old sighed depressed-dly, and began counting the freckles on her arm.

She suddenly tensed her shoulders as a figure approached the bench from the corner of her eye, and then sat itself next to her.  
She glanced at the person, well combed dark hair, pale skin, sort of fat, but very tall with limbs that didn't seem to know what to do with themselves. He was around fourteen or fifteen with cold gray eyes fixed on the playground, specifically on an equally (if not more) pale boy who was approaching the other children like a cat forced towards a bathtub full of water.  
The young girl considered getting up and walking to a different bench, but for some reason she ignored that part of her, and instead focused on the curly haired boy.

He was also tall, dark clothing to match his hair hanging loosely against his overly thin frame. His nose was far less impressive then the teenager's, but it was long and slim to match the rest of his face.  
He sauntered over to and addressed a small group of children, saying things that she couldn't hear. All she knew was that by the end, an especially fragile looking girl broke into tears, and a boy that looked like her brother punched the curly haired boy in the arm. The group quickly walked away, and the curly haired boy was left alone, looking sourly after them and rubbing his sore arm.  
He glanced back at the bench, dark eyebrows lowering over ice blue eyes, before he seemed to wipe its entire existence from his mind and set out to climb the tubular slide.

Isabelle couldn't help but tense further as the seemingly rather sullen teenager beside her gave a ghost of a smile alongside a humored release of air she assumed was laughter.  
"He's difficult, if haven't noticed already," he said in such a honeyed aristocratic drawl it sent tingles down the young girl's spine.  
"W-what?" she asked, her child's voice barely heard above the sound of tree leaves hitting each other. He raised an eyebrow, "Apologies, did I mistake the direction of your attention?"  
The young girl frowned, twiddling her thumbs, "No," she said finally, "I'm just not suppose' to talk to you…em, people like you," she corrected, though now that she thought about it, that didn't sound right either.  
The teenager snorted softly, "I see," he said, crossing one long leg over the other.

The two sat in silence after that, Isabelle shyly shoving her unruly chestnut locks behind her ears unsuccessfully due to sheer thickness.  
She looked over at her sisters, both giggling hysterically about something or other alongside Samantha Johnston and Hannah Kets.  
Finding this rather uninteresting she hazarded looking back at the curly haired boy, her eyes widening at the sight. He appeared to be climbing over the rail- put there for the express purpose of children **not **falling to their deaths- his long fingers wrapping around the cold metal tightly.  
The strange teenager beside her stiffened visibly, and Isabelle wondered if he would soon be running to keep the curly haired boy from breaking something.

And yet he stayed rooted to that spot, even as the boy's shoe slipped at the wrong time and he fell from his precarious place and onto the woodchip covered ground.  
The sullen one didn't move at all, back still straight as a rake as he continued to stare at curly haired boy with deep intensity.  
Eventually curly stood up, brushing off dirt with one arm, the other he moved and then winced. Glaring at the park bench and its occupants, he marched over.  
"Thank you so much for coming to my aide brother dear," he said once within earshot, holding his seemingly injured arm gingerly. Isabelle curled her legs beneath her, pulling away from the seven to eight year old's ire as he came closer.  
The sullen one shrugged, "I was waiting to see if you had any serious injuries Sherlock, why trouble myself with helping you if I don't need to?" he grinned falsely.  
"Oh yes, because getting off your fat arse and walking a short ways is _troubling yourself_," The curly haired boy said, rolling his eyes, though his anger had seemingly melted away. That was when he noticed Isabelle's presence, "Who's she? Did you finally get yourself a girlfriend?" he remarked, shoving his brother aside with one arm to sit on the bench.

Isabelle blushed, frowning deeply at him, "I was just sitting here, don't bring me into this!" she yelped, hugging her arms.  
The one called Sherlock couldn't hide a chuckle, and then winced as the movement jogged his arm. Brother Dear (aka sullen teenager, whichever you prefer) frowned almost invisibly, "Perhaps this will teach you not to climb things like a wild person," he commented, gaze roving over his brother's form-looking for further injuries.  
Seemingly discovering none, he leaned back, reaching a hand into his coat pocket he removed what appeared to be a candy bar.  
"This was intended for later, but you look like you need consoling," he said mockingly, pulling off the wrapper and snapping it in half.  
Curly haired Sherlock scowled, but snatched the chocolate from his brother's grasp nonetheless, "I don't know why you took me here in the first place," he snarled, picking at the candy with his fingertips listlessly.  
Sullen teenager picked off a piece of chocolate and put it in his mouth, "Do not act as though this was _my_ idea Sherlock. Mummy got it into her head that we weren't interacting enough with the other children," he wrinkled his over-sized nose, "What a ghastly business."

Isabelle's brow furrowed as she tried to understand the conversation (and filtering out how weird it was to hear a teenager refer to his mum as "mummy") she wished that she could leave… Just get up and walk away from the two strange boys and their strange conversation and their strange and random chocolate.  
But then again, wasn't this what she deserved? She grabbed at her skirt, trying to relieve the distress which balled up inside of her.  
As the two chattered away about how horrific other children were, she tried to keep her mind off of the far away laughter of her family.

**-"****_Come on Izzy, you've tried before remember? You're just too stupid to have friends, no shame in that," Gloria had said, patting her sister upon the head like a puppy.  
Isabelle stared at the ground, "But I don't need friends to play in the park, do I? It's not a law?" she offered, digging the toe of her shoe into the dirt.  
Maria's laughter snapped her attention upwards, "Are you serious? It's a law for kids like you, you know…the A word. Why don't you wait on that bench over there, we'll come and get you when we're done talking with our _****_friends_****_,"_**

"Would you like some?"

Isabelle snapped out of it to see the sullen teenager looking at her, holding out his half of the chocolate bar.  
She stared at it for a moment, "Uh," she said stupidly. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but otherwise didn't comment.  
The teenager shot a glare at his brother before he snapped off a large chunk of the candy and held it further out for her. The young girl had enough sense to take it from him at this point, a warm feeling settling in her stomach even before she had tasted the treat.

"Thank you," she said politely, "though my mum said that I wasn't suppose' to take candy from strangers either," she added, stuffing the end of the bar into her mouth, letting it melt all over her tongue. Strange that she trusted these two enough to take their candy.  
"Yes well, that point still stands," the teenager replied, "were it not that the stranger had taken a bite out of it before offering it to you."  
Sherlock made a small 'hm' sound, "Not true, besides using it as a luring tool, the stranger could probably poison one half of the bar, bite the non-poisoned half and then offer the other to the child," he said.  
"Yes, but the first half would need to be marked in some way, not to mention he would need to have re-wrapped the bar if we are going by my actions," he gestured vaguely with the candy wrapper. Sherlock nodded, "So something distinctive on one half, poison on the other, but how could he get the poison into only one half?"

"He could have made the chocolate himself," Isabelle offered, "he could put half the melted chocolate in the mold, and then poison the other half, and fill it in," her eyes widened, was she really talking to these people casually about poisoning chocolate?  
"That could work, but there would be a large chance that the first half would cover the bottom of the mold rather than just one half," the teenager said, putting his last remaining bite of candy bar under intense scrutiny.  
"How about caramel filling?" Isabelle asked, "What if the stranger made one side solid, but put caramel in the other? He could have poisoned the caramel, and would be safe," she eagerly looked over the two strangers.  
Sherlock thought for a moment, and then nodded, "Seems realistic enough," he said, though she could tell he was annoyed for having not thought of it first.  
The teenager smiled, "There we have it, now if you ever feel the need to poison someone, you have a perfectly good way of doing it," he said.

She couldn't help it, Isabelle burst out laughing. This clearly startled her two companions, each staring at her with wide confused eyes. The elder of the two seemed to understand it faster, and he too joined in with a light chuckle.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes (for the third time that day) though a smile reached the corners of his mouth.

"What are you laughing about?!"

Isabelle immediately stopped to stare at both Maria and Gloria who had obviously come to get her and bring her home; she blushed, unable to think of a sensible reply.  
Hesitantly she stood up and walked over to her sisters, hoping that there was no sign of chocolate on her face or clothing.  
Seemingly not as Maria quickly changed the subject, "Who are they?" her voice was low and dangerous so the two boys couldn't hear her.  
Isabelle bit her bottom lip, stepping back one. In a split second decision she spoke up, "They're my friends!"  
"What?" snapped Gloria, looking over the teenager and Sherlock with a sudden hint of anger, "These are your friends? Mum says you're not supposed to lie Izzy," she snarled.

At that moment the sullen teenager stood up quickly and offered a hand, "Michael Holmes, pleasure. I hope you do not mind that I kept your sister detained with our boring conversation, it seems that myself and my brother were too entranced by your sister's brilliant views on_ Avvelenamento cioccolato_," he said all of this rather quickly, but with such a degree of sincere calmness it made both Maria and Gloria speechless.  
Isabelle stared at the teenager (or rather, Michael) with a new light, he was protecting her! Confidently she tilted up her chin, "So are we going home?"  
Mouths moved a few times before Gloria finally managed to say, "Yeah sure," and she grabbed at Isabelle's hand protectively.

As she was pulled away Isabelle looked back at the two boys. Michael having sat down again and Sherlock sitting on the back of the bench.  
_Her friends.  
_Now, whether the sullen teenager (who couldn't quite be described as sullen anymore in her head) was telling the truth or not remained to be seen-she probably would never see them again. But she had talked to them, laughed with them (sort of), and it was proof even in the smallest amount that she wasn't too stupid to have friends!

Well, even then if she didn't believe it, at least it shut her sisters up.

* * *

Sherlock looked at his brother with a confused expression playing on his thin features, "Michael?" he asked, pressing his knuckles against his shoulder in hopes of keeping it from moving.  
Mycroft shrugged nonchalantly, "I wanted to sound normal enough, Michael wasn't _too_ far of a stretch," he said casually.  
The younger of the two looked at the small girl, "You've gone soft…well, softer," he corrected glancing at his brother's somewhat stout figure, "she seems nice enough, but why help her? We'll never see her again," he launched himself off the bench, gritting his teeth against the pain. Probably one of his more idiotic acts-climbing the railing was. But he couldn't pass up the view it might have provided.  
He looked back at his brother, whose expression had gone annoyingly blank.

"She looked like she needed consoling."

And with that he stood up and started to walk the direction of their home, "Come along Sherlock, mummy will be getting too excited about the prospect of us having made friends if we stay out too late."

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**Mycroft said "Chocolate poisoning" in Italian, thanks to the use of Google Translate. (I apologize to all Italians, I do not speak your language.)  
**

**This is going a little bit off the fact that at the start of "A Long way to Holmes" Mycroft comes back every Friday because there's something different about Isabelle that he can't identify-ever excited for a challenge.  
And the same applies to Isabelle, there's a connection that keeps her from running away from a creepy man that brings people to warehouses. Were this anyone else, I imagine she would not be so welcoming and forgiving.**

**Anywho, I hope you enjoy this, and please point out any typos, or out of character lines or actions to me if you see them-I would greatly appreciate it.**

**Please review!**


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